“To hell?” Cromwell is taken aback.
“Are you drunk?” Nikolai grabs Andrei’s glass out of his hand. “Don’t you dare drink a drop more!”
“You’re the one who’s drunk, not me.” Andrei makes himself more comfortable on the divan. He brings his pale, angry face close to Cromwell’s. “Naturally, you’re going to hell. Isn’t today’s Russia hell?”
Liza watches him. He’s so handsome! She sits down beside him and places her hand on his shoulder.
“You know, Andrei…”
But he isn’t listening to her. He’s looking Cromwell up and down, looking at his long legs stretching out from the divan.
“I’m afraid the suitcases will be too small,” he says in Russian.
Nikolai shakes him by the shoulder. He’s bright red and his lips are trembling.
“You’re drunk. Shut up this minute! You’re mad.”
“And you’re a coward. You thought it all up and now you’re frightened.”
Liza’s eyes open wide in incomprehension.
“What are you talking about? What suitcases?”
“Don’t worry about it, Liza. Don’t take any notice of him,” Nikolai reassures her. “Andrei’s drunk. We ought to go to bed.”
“To bed?” Liza stretches her arms. “Already? And we were having such a lovely time.”
“Liza,” Nikolai says sternly. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
Liza shakes her head.
“No, no, I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Indeed, she hadn’t forgotten anything. The day after tomorrow they were going to Russia.
She staggers to her feet. Her legs have grown so heavy!
“Go home, Crom dearest. It’s late. You have a difficult day ahead of you.”
Cromwell is practically asleep already. His head is resting on the cushion. His eyes are shut.
“Crom, it’s time to go home.”
“Yes, yes, I’m going. It’s been such fun. When we return from Russia, we can see each other often—”
“We can talk about that later. Go home now.”
Nikolai shakes his hand.
“Goodnight and goodbye.”
“Till tomorrow.”
They all walk him to the hallway. The glare from the light high up near the ceiling is intolerable. Everything is swaying and spinning. Nikolai helps Cromwell into his coat.
“Will you be all right on your own? Should I see you home?”
Cromwell smiles gratefully.
“Thank you, you’re so kind. You’re all so very kind.”
Andrei suddenly laughs again very loudly, startling Liza.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Goodnight.” Cromwell bows to them. “I’ll walk myself home just fine. Goodnight, Isolde.”
The door slams shut behind him.
“You’re an idiot!” Nikolai shouts angrily.
“And you’re a coward!”
“Stop arguing and go to bed.”
Liza goes to the staircase and places her foot on the first step. Her ears are ringing, her vision grows dim. She can’t make sense of anything. And she doesn’t need to. She just needs to make it to her room, she just needs to lie down and fall asleep.
* Écoutez… ailes: “Hear my song, ladies and damsels. If you eat my heart, it will give you wings.”
VII
ORDINARILY LIZA would wash upstairs in her room, but after last night she felt like she needed a bath. Her head ached and she had a horrible metallic taste in her mouth. Liza frowned. It was a bad business, she really must stop drinking like this.
White suds fell on the floor. A cloud of steam rose from the hot water. The yellow electric light shone dimly on the wall, like a street lamp in fog.
Liza didn’t like the bathroom. It was narrow and dark and had no windows, only a small door upholstered in felt. Liza always thought that it was more like a prison cell or a crypt than a bathroom. She also thought it smelt of damp, bogs and dead toads, although there were no bogs or toads to be had there. The bathroom would have been well suited for chaining up one’s enemies. They could scream all they liked and nobody would hear them.
Liza put on her house robe and slippers and went out into the hallway. She should make some tea now that Dasha was gone. She could hear voices in the dining room. Kolya was already up and Andrei was with him.
She wanted to join them. “No, I’ll go and make some tea first. They must be hungry.”
She ran along the corridor to the kitchen. Dirty pots crowded the stove, crumpled napkins littered the floor.
“What a mess, and Dasha’s only been gone a day!” She opened the back door and picked up a loaf of bread that had been delivered from the baker’s that morning.
“I’m being helpful and useful. Kolya will be impressed!”
The water came to a noisy boil. Liza picked up the kettle from the stove, tucked the bread under one arm and took the sugar bowl in her free hand. Slowly and carefully, she made her way down the corridor. Her felt slippers carried her noiselessly. Liza was proud of herself. It was only tea, a trifling thing, but she was being helpful.
The bread almost slipped out from under her arm and she stopped to catch it. She pressed it to her breast and suddenly heard Nikolai’s voice from behind the door:
“You have to shoot from behind, in the back. And the muzzle has to be covered.”
Liza pushed the door open.
Andrei was standing by the window, holding a revolver in his hand.
Nikolai was leaning over it and wrapping his handkerchief around the muzzle. They both spun around to look at her when the door creaked open. Their eyes had the same black haunted expression.
Liza dropped the bread on the floor and her hands started shaking, making the tin lid of the kettle jump.
“Who are you going to shoot in the back?”
Nikolai was furious.
“What are you doing eavesdropping at the door?”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I’ve made you tea.”
But Nikolai was already calm. He hid the revolver in his pocket.
“All right, all right. Put the kettle on the table. We don’t want you scalding yourself. Come and have some tea, Andrei.”
Andrei picked the bread up off the floor.
“It’s a sin to drop bread on the floor. That’s what Nanny taught me. Why are you staring at me like that, Liza?”
“Who are you shooting in the back?” Liza repeated.
“Oh, you’re still harping on about that!” Nikolai laughed. “Whoever I need to. A border guard or a Cheka man. You don’t think I’m going to Russia to catch butterflies or have a snowball fight, do you?”
Liza shook her head.
“But why do you need to wrap the muzzle with a handkerchief?”
Nikolai stirred sugar into his tea.
“So you can’t hear the gunshot. The shot always has to be silent.”
Liza sat down at the table in silence. The tablecloth was stained with patches of dark red wine. Her hands started shaking again. Kolya was right, of course—what did she have to be so frightened of?
“We need you to go to the station right away, Liza, to find out the train times. Can you do that?”
Liza nodded. She tried not to look at Andrei, Nikolai or the dark stains on the tablecloth. She got up.
“Fine, I’ll go now.”
Liza dressed in a hurry. In the hallway, she strained her ears to see whether she could make out anything else being said in the dining room, but they had begun to whisper.
VIII
WHEN LIZA returned home, she found Nikolai sitting by the window.
“It’s at ten-thirty!” Liza shouted. “The train’s at ten-thirty!”
“The train?” Nikolai asked, confused.
“Yes, the train. The train to Moscow!” Liza laughed. “What’s wrong with you, are you asleep?”
“No, I’m thinking.”
“There’s one in the morning, too.”
<
br /> “We don’t need the morning one. Thanks for finding out anyway. Ten-thirty, you said?”
“Yes. Where’s Andrei?”
“He’s gone home.”
“Why? He always stays with us these days.”
“Well, he couldn’t tonight.”
Liza shrugged.
“But it’s our last night… We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“His aunt has visitors. Stop asking questions.”
Liza said nothing.
The table was still laden with empty bottles, dirty plates and used glasses. Liza began to feel a bit nauseated again. It had been such fun asking about trains to Moscow at the station, as if she were about to leave, and proceeding to run around various shops, looking at gloves and stockings that she might buy to wear there. But here at home she felt wretched; it was probably the mess. She set to work.
“Hold on, Kolya, let me tidy up a bit. It’s like a pigsty in here.”
“Don’t bother, it isn’t worth it.”
“Crom will be here soon.”
“Well, we needn’t worry about him any more.”
“Why not?” She was surprised.
She hastily cleared the table.
“Oh, do stop your fussing! Listen, Liza…” Nikolai paused for a moment. “Don’t forget—Cromwell is sleeping in your room tonight.”
Liza blushed.
“I promised him, but…”
“No,” Nikolai interrupted her. “He must. You’ll take him straight up to your room.”
A glass fell out of Liza’s shaking hand and smashed on the floor with a final, pitiful ring.
“I’ve broken it!” Liza cried out in fright. “But it’s all right. It was a clear glass, so it’s a good omen.”
Nikolai grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Crom has to sleep in your room, do you understand?”
Liza nodded obediently.
“Fine, but why? We could just put him up in the drawing room.”
Nikolai frowned in irritation.
“Please, no more questions. Just do as I say.”
Liza nodded again.
“Fine.”
The evening dragged on and on, with no end in sight. Nikolai smoked in silence. Liza sat on the divan, with her feet tucked under her.
“I do wish you’d make a fire, Kolya, it’s so cold!”
“Oh, leave me in peace!” He threw his cigarette down on the floor, angrily. “I’ve got other things to worry about. What time did Cromwell say he’d be here?”
“He said as soon as his mother fell asleep. At about eleven.”
“Eleven! That’s a long wait, still.”
They fell silent again. Liza looked at the yellow light, then at the thick, dull coating of dust on the sideboard.
“Kolya, I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten anything all day.”
Nikolai shrugged.
“You’re a big girl, you can look after yourself. There’s ham and bread in the kitchen.”
Liza went through to the kitchen, switched on the gas and put the kettle on the stove.
“What’s weighing so heavily on me?” she wondered. “What am I afraid of? Everything is just fine, everything is splendid. We’re leaving tomorrow. So what is it then?”
But her heart felt large and heavy, as if it were not a heart, but a stone weight in her breast. Her knees grew weak and her hands shook.
Liza cut some bread, topped it with a slice of ham and started eating it just as she stood there next to the stove. But she found it difficult to swallow. Her throat had closed up too much. She didn’t want to eat any more.
She put the bread back on the plate and shook her head. “Why do I feel like this? Only a minute ago I was hungry.”
She made her way back along the long corridor and sat down on the divan. Nikolai was still smoking—angrily, silently. Everything was quiet. Outside, the moon shone through the black naked branches. Liza clasped her cold hands together and quite unexpectedly heard herself say:
“Kolya, I’m frightened. I’m scared.”
Her voice was loud and anxious.
Nikolai turned to look at her.
“You’re scared?” he asked sharply. “It’s too early to be scared.”
“What? Too early? What are you saying?”
“Nothing. Shut up. There’s nothing for you to be scared of.”
“Kolya…” Liza whispered. “I can’t. I’m so scared today, it’s like every corner has a—”
“Shut up!” Nikolai turned pale and his lips trembled. He quickly looked over his shoulder. “Shut up. I may be scared too, for all you know.”
“Kolya…” Liza pressed her cold hands to her breast and closed her eyes. It grew very quiet. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.
Nikolai moved his chair aside forcefully. She heard the flick of the light switch, and a bright light appeared right above her head. Liza opened her eyes.
“Nonsense. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” Nikolai was still pale. He wanted to smile, but his lips couldn’t manage it. “You’re such a scaredy-cat, Liza. You wouldn’t say boo to a goose!”
He closed the shutters and drew the yellow curtains.
“It’s just the dark, the silence, the waiting around… Don’t be scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Let’s turn the lights on in the drawing room, as well.”
He brought her a shawl.
“Wrap yourself in this. You’re cold. You’ll be much more relaxed when you warm yourself up.”
He set the gramophone going.
“Music! Just the thing. Now we have light, warmth and music. You’re not still scared, are you, Liza?”
Liza sat in the corner of the divan. The thick shawl lay across her motionless legs. Her eyes squinted in the bright electric light. The shrill strains of a foxtrot assaulted her ears.
“This is every bit as good as a dance hall,” said Nikolai, smiling quite calmly now. “And just to make it even more fun, why don’t we have a dance, my little sparrow?”
He proffered his hand.
She was about to get up—there was nothing to be scared of, after all—when suddenly she saw the shadow his hands cast on the wall. The shadow was enormous, dark and grotesque. His arms were reaching out to get her; the long, bony fingers on his hands were trying to get at her throat. She pressed herself back into the divan.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”
Nikolai recoiled in shock.
“What? What’s the matter with you? Why are you screaming as if I’m trying to slit your throat?”
But Liza went on screaming, terrified of the shadows, which were still stretching their fingers out towards her.
“Don’t touch me! I’m scared! I’m scared of you!”
IX
THAT EVENING was spent just like every other evening when they both stayed in. They read in silence, gently interrupting each other every now and again just to exchange a few words. Their drawing room was quiet and cosy, with a large roaring fire and low, comfortable armchairs. It was more like a room in a wealthy English home than a large Parisian hotel.
At half past ten, Cromwell’s mother set her book to one side and got up from her armchair.
“Goodnight, Cromwell. You should go to bed, it’s late.”
Cromwell got up too. The opalescent light cast a soft glow over his worried face. His mother studied him closely.
“Is something the matter, Cromwell? You seem rather out of sorts. Are you quite well?”
Cromwell blushed.
“I have a headache,” he said quietly.
She pressed her hand against his forehead.
“You don’t have a fever. Go and get some sleep. You’ll feel better again in the morning.”
He silently kissed her hand. She pressed her lips to his smooth cheek.
“You’ll have to start shaving soon,” she smiled. “My son is quite grown-up now,” she thought to herself.
“Go to bed and leave your books unti
l tomorrow,” she said.
She walked over to her bedroom and paused in the doorway, while Cromwell switched the lights off in the drawing room. Then she gave him a little nod and went through.
“My son. He’s grown so tall and so handsome!”
The white sheets and lilac covers were folded back over her vast bed.
Slowly, she undressed. Her dress was draped over the armchair. A long pearl necklace gently collapsed into the padded velvet drawer of her jewellery box. She took off her rings and earrings, brushed back her short hair and studied her reflection in the dresser mirror. Her face was beautiful. Cold, but still young. Her neck was slender, and her shoulders pale.
“I’m a lucky woman,” she thought to herself. “I’m so, so happy. I have someone to live for. Cromwell—my boy.”
She lay down, pulled the covers over herself and stretched out her long, muscular legs.
“Tomorrow morning I’m going riding in the Bois de Boulogne,” she remembered with pleasure. “And then lunch at Jen’s. How lovely.”
She lay on her back and crossed her arms over the covers to say her bedtime prayers.
After she’d finished, she turned over to lie on her right side and closed her eyes.
Sleep drew so near. Her head was filled with snatches of words and phrases. They were floating around like scraps of clouds in an otherwise empty sky. She didn’t have the strength to string them together, to make sense of what they meant. But suddenly, her shoulders shook in a violent shudder. Startled, she opened her eyes.
“Cromwell!” she said loudly. An anxiety, an animal instinct pulsated through her whole body until she felt unable to breathe. It was a mother’s fear for her offspring. “Cromwell.”
Her heart clenched, as it always did when her son was ill or in danger. The familiar sensation of fear echoed painfully throughout her body. That unforgettable, terrible pain that she felt when he was born—the first moments of his life, when the blood bond connecting mother and child had yet to be severed.
She sat up and passed her hand over her forehead.
“What’s happening to me? Cromwell is home. He’s sleeping. He’s well. I’ve nothing to be worried about. It’s just my nerves,” she whispered, twisting her mouth into the same scornful smile as Cromwell’s whenever he referred to “nerves”.
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